


Blow the Wind Southerly

by starbear (panda_hiiro)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Valentines, mer-Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13772574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_hiiro/pseuds/starbear
Summary: A good day to sail - but there was something restless in the air, an expectant sort of anticipation that came only when they were landbound. They couldn’t see it yet, but Shiro knew they’d sight Cuba on the horizon soon enough.“You’re in a good mood.”“What makes you say that?”“You always sing when you’re in a good mood.” Keith shouldered his way in, taking the wheel from Shiro. “It’s ‘cause you’re going to see the fish today, isn’t it?”"Maybe."-Pirate!AU - Shiro, Captain of the Black Lion, takes a few days shore leave to visit someone special. One-shot, slightly bittersweet fluff.





	Blow the Wind Southerly

“ _Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow the wind south o'er the bonny blue sea;_

_Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow bonnie breeze, my lover to me.”_

Shiro sang the tune aimlessly as his hand drummed along the ship’s wheel, calloused fingers tapping the well-worn wood in time. The sky was a bright, seamless blue against the glittering expanse of the ocean, a pleasant breeze carrying the scent of salt on deck. A good day to sail - but there was something restless in the air, an expectant sort of anticipation that came only when they were landbound. They couldn’t see it yet, but Shiro knew they’d sight Cuba on the horizon soon enough.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Shiro turned at the sound of Keith’s voice, looking over at his first mate’s approach. Keith’s dark, shaggy hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and as usual he wore a dark and furrowed expression that worked well for quickly getting their crew in line. He’d cut and altered his military coat so many times now that it was almost unrecognizable from its original form as a British officer’s uniform, the red bleached out by years of salt and sun. Shiro wasn’t entirely sure why he still wore it, other than as a reminder of the distant journey their lives had taken. Shiro, for his own part, had cast aside all vestiges of his own uniform, along with his commission and the life he’d once known, the moment he’d accepted his role as captain on a pirate ship.

“What makes you say that?”

“You always sing when you’re in a good mood.” Keith shouldered his way in, taking the wheel from Shiro. “It’s ‘cause you’re going to see the fish today, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Shiro said. “You know I don’t like it when you call him that.”

“Why? He is. Half, anyway. And all of him _smells_ like fish, so…”

“Keith...”

“Sorry.” Keith paused, then added, “But it is true.”

Shiro sighed, and shook his head.

“Let me have this, Keith. It’s been almost six months.”

“Still don’t see why he leaves.” Keith shot a critical, assessing gaze in Shiro’s direction. “Pod migration, okay, whatever. But there’s nothing wrong with the water here. You should just ask him to stay.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

Shiro turns a wry smile in Keith’s direction.

“I’d think you of all people would understand what it means to be free.” Shiro shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like we can hang around Varadero all the time. If we don’t do some honest pirating every once in a while, we’ll all go hungry.”

“That’d be a little easier if you weren’t so choosy about what ships we do said pirating on.”

“Well, that might be true,” Shiro said. “But I’m sure you understand my reasons for that, too.”

Keith stared at him for a while, then pointedly turned his gaze out towards the open horizon. He made a small, non-committal sound, and shrugged his shoulders, which to Shiro was a clear admission of agreement. Keith was a hard read for some, but to Shiro, he’d always been an open book. A brief, companionable silence passed between them, before Keith said,

“Finish what you were singing earlier.”

Shiro smiled.

“Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro didn’t care for the word ‘pirate.’

Technically speaking, he was still a privateer, but his letter of marque had been revoked years ago, leaving little room for ambiguity as to his status with the British Empire. Pirates though they may be, they still had their codes: no casualties, no prisoners, equal shares of everything they brought in. Shiro liked to consider himself a fair man - they only took what they needed, from those that had enough to be taken from. If ever his conscience troubled him, he only had to remember his years as a naval officer, or the nightmare stories Pidge and Hunk had told him about their time on merchant ships. No, there was no going back for them, and even if there was - Shiro would rather die than serve something as corrupt and unjust as the British Empire. At least this way, they could make their own rules, and be in charge of their own destinies. This way, it didn’t matter what shade his skin was, or if his name sounded odd on an English-speaking tongue. On this ship, he and his crewmates were equals. They were family. And if they had to fight the whole world to keep that, then they’d go down swinging together.

They were good at what they did, there was no denying that: _The Black Lion_ was one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean, and one of the craftiest. Shiro had every shipping line in these waters memorized, and could get in and out of any port south of Florida without drawing attention. Generally speaking, by the time a targeted ship knew what hit them, they were gone, and save for a few close shaves, they easily evaded naval ships. It had been during one of those close shaves, nearly two years ago now, that they’d almost lost Shiro for good - his miraculous rescue had changed his life in more ways than one, and was what led him back now to Varardero, Cuba.

Varadero wasn’t exactly a pirate destination - a Spanish shipyard and point of departure for yields from the Cuban salt mines, it held too much risk and too little reward for most pirates seeking plunder. But it was also an easy place to slip a few coins if one needed somewhere to dock without drawing the attention and ire of the newly minted cannons in Havana, and though _The Lion’s_ crew were hardly allies of the Spanish navy, they were enough at odds with the British that from time to time the Spanish were willing to turn a blind eye towards them.

Once docked, Shiro bid farewell to the crew. Three days shore leave for all of them - he was sure it would be well spent. Shiro took little with him when he left: a small canvas rucksack with a few day’s worth of provisions, a handful of brightly colored candies, and a small box wrapped in delicate paper. He shrugged his coat on, tied the sleeve right under the stump of his right arm, and set out.

It wasn’t a long walk from the docks to the cave. The hardest part was climbing down the slippery rock surface that led to the subterranean lagoon - difficult enough considering he only had one arm, and that was somewhat preoccupied with protecting the contents of his bag. But he made it, in one piece, relaxing with a sigh at the familiar surroundings.The cave was a secret; he hadn’t even brought Keith here. Despite the warmth of the sunny, Caribbean afternoon, it was cool inside, dappled sunlight filtering down from the entrance above and casting prisms of shifting light across the still, clear water and the smooth rock. The water’s surface was so clear Shiro could see straight to the bottom, but the ceiling’s reflection caught in it, creating a surreal, infinite loop.

“Well, hello there, sailor.”

A familiar voice called out to him, and Shiro’s heart lifted as he saw a form rising from the water - a young man, dark hair and bright eyes, cheeky-grinned as he bobbed in the water, everything from his shoulders down still submerged.

“Hello, Lance.” Shiro sat his bag down, and walked to the water’s edge. “And here I thought I might get here before you this time.”

“You’re joking, right? In that old bucket of yours? Hah.”

“I’d appreciate you not talking about my ship that way.”

“I’d appreciate you getting your ridiculous legs down here in this water.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shiro said, with an exaggerated shrug. “I’m just getting my land legs back and all. Think I might enjoy dry land for a while.”

Lance stared at him, and frowned.

“Don’t make me climb up there.”

“I’d kind of like to see you try it.”

“Think how sad you’d be if I messed up my scales, though.”

“You’re right. I would be sad.”

Shiro relented, rolling the hem of his pants up as he sat, legs in the cool water. Lance surged forward to meet him, lifting himself out of the water in one smooth, fluid motion as he draped his long arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Like this, Shiro saw clearly where Lance’s skin gave way to vibrant blue scales around his waist, the lower half of his body ending in a billowing flurry of tail and fins that spread out in the water beneath him. Like this, he felt the rhythm of Lance’s heartbeat, closely timed with his own, and the surprising warmth emanating from Lance’s smooth, damp skin. Like this, he saw the glimmer of colors he had no name for reflected in Lance’s eyes, a faint pearlescent dust clinging to his eyelids.

Shiro could have been content to just watch Lance forever, to soak in the presence of this beautiful and wonderful creature; Lance, however, was not as patient and, placing his hands on either side of Shiro’s face, leaned up and kissed him.

Keith was wrong. Lance smelled like the ocean - like salt and sun and all the life that hid beneath the water - and he tasted of something faintly sweet. Shiro heard waves crashing each time their mouths met; it was the best thing he’d ever experienced.

“I missed you,” Lance said, when their lips parted.

Shiro leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Lance’s, running his fingers through the short, silky strands of Lance’s hair.

“I missed you, too.”

They stayed that way for a while, Lance settled against him, half out of the water with his tail twining around Shiro’s submerged legs, enjoying a few moments of brief, companionable silence broken only by the quiet harmony of their breathing. To no surprise, it was Lance that moved first - in all the time Shiro had known him, he’d never known Lance to be still, or quiet, for long.

“Okay, so tell me everything,” Lance said, tail swishing impatiently, a blur of iridescent movement beneath the water.

“Well…” Shiro scratched the back of his neck, absently. “What do you want to know?”

“ _Everything_ ,” Lance said. “Where have you been? Did you sail anywhere new? How much swashbuckling have you done? Do you have any new cool scars?”

“I don’t know that I’ve buckled too many swashes lately,” Shiro said. “As for cool new scars, nothing exciting, I’m afraid. You’ll have to make do with the cool old scars.”

“That’s okay. A little boring, but okay.” Lance looked up at Shiro, a familiar gleam in his eyes. “More _importantly_ \- did you bring me any presents?”

“Presents?” Shiro blinked. “Was I supposed to bring presents?”

“Shiro!”

Shiro laughed at the look of utter indignation marring Lance’s face, then reached over to pull his rucksack towards him.

“Don’t be silly, of course I did. Here,” he said, passing over a handful of the candies he’d stowed away. Lance grabbed at them greedily, then sniffed at each one before carefully unwrapping it and placing it in his mouth. “They’re all the way from England. Do you like them?”

“ _Mmph.”_ Lance let out a moan that bordered on lascivious. “They’re _amazing_. Candy is the only thing humans know how to do well.”

Shiro watched Lance as he ate, noting the way he licked his lips after each candy, how he savored each one with his whole body, little shivers of pleasure running down Lance’s spine with each bite. Shiro talked while he watched, in a quiet, even voice, recounting what he could of the last few months. There wasn’t much to tell, really - the life of a pirate was not as exciting as the newspapers and novels made it out to be. Save for the now infamous Yalexian Pearl Incident in which they’d very nearly lost their quartermaster over a bad debt in Nassau, they’d spent most of it picking on rogue merchant ships and lying low from various naval vessels. Pidge and Keith both seemed to take a certain degree of pride in the fact that they were wanted men - Pidge had one of her own bounty posters proudly nailed to the wall in her cabin - but the attention only encouraged more caution from Shiro.

“What about you?” Shiro asked, when he was done; Lance had finished off his candies and made a neat pile of the wrappers on the ground beside Shiro. “How was the migration this year?”

“Same old, same old. We met up with a pod from Australia this time. Hoo boy, those ladies were all _over_ me.” Lance preened, and twisted so the billowy end of his tail rose from the water. “Let me tell you, everyone wanted a piece of this hot tail.”

Shiro snickered, muffling the sound behind his hand as Lance flexed and posed. He could imagine it all too well - Lance, brimming with confidence, swimming up to a beautiful mermaid with some cheesy one-liner he’d picked up from God only knew where. Most of Lance’s life under the water was left to Shiro’s imagination, but he felt sure that wherever Lance went, he was always the center of attention. It was that self-assuredness, paired with an insatiable sense of curiosity, that had brought them together in the first place: Lance being not only bold enough to save a drowning human that had gone overboard, but also inquisitive enough to stick around and get to know said human. Shiro was eternally grateful for that.

“Don’t worry, though,” Lance said, placing a hand, dramatically, on his chest, “I told them my heart was already held captive by another.”

“Is that right? I bet they were all disappointed.”

“Devastated,” Lance said. “Really, you don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Mm. I think I do.” Shiro reached out to touch Lance’s face, brushing his thumb in a slow, gentle motion along his cheek. “I have something else for you, by the way.”

“Another present? What is it?”

Lance made a show of trying to peer into the bag as Shiro pulled out a small parcel, a little larger than his hand, wrapped in paper and string. He handed it over to Lance, who took it gingerly, as if it were some gentle thing that might flee from his hands at a moment’s notice. He plucked at the string and paper, revealing a hinged wooden box; opening it, he found inside a brilliant assortment of seashells, glued into the pattern of a compass rose. Lance’s eyes widened as he stared at it, fingers tracing over the shells in a slow, reverent sort of motion.

“It’s called a sailor’s valentine,” Shiro explained, “I’ve seen them made on Barbados, and I thought I might try my hand at it. It’s a little rough around the edges; I had some trouble finding seashells all the same size, but-”

“I love it. It’s beautiful. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.” Lance clutched the box to his chest. “I love it.”

“Oh.” Shiro felt his cheeks warm with color. “I’m glad. I wanted you to have something, since we can’t...since I’m always…”

“Wait,” Lance said, “I have something for you, too.”

Lance sat the box on the ground before diving, abruptly, beneath the water’s surface. Shiro lost sight of him, and several minutes passed before Lance resurfaced, clutching something in his hands.

“This is for you.” The shell in Lance’s hands was huge, a spiraling conch shell gleaming in tints of white and pink. “I made it so it’ll sing. Like this, here.”

Lance pressed his lips to an opening on the shell, and a high, clear note, bright as a trumpet, echoed through the cave. He passed it over to Shiro and said, “you try.” Shiro’s attempt was nowhere near as successful; after a few red-faced puffs he finally managed a reedy, sour sound that sounded a little less like music and a little more like flatulence.

“I think I need some practice,” Shiro said, “It’s gorgeous, though. Thank you, Lance.”

“Mmhm. Now if you need me, you just toot on that thing and I’ll come swimming,” Lance said, “Wherever you are.”

“I don’t think your hearing is actually _that_ good.”

“It’s supposed to be romantic, shut up.” Lance fidgeted, his tail agitating the water. “Besides, if you were close by, it wouldn’t matter.”

Ah.

Of course they were going to get around to this topic - Shiro had figured it’d be later rather than sooner, but better, perhaps, to go ahead and clear the metaphorical water.

“Lance, you know…”

“You have a duty to your crew, yadda yadda yadda.” Lance sighed, “Yeah, I know.”

“They’re my family.”

“I _know_.” Lance leaned back and twisted so he was floating on his back, staring up at the high, rocky ceiling. “I know how much you care about them. I don’t wanna leave my family, either. Which I guess is the problem.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Shiro said, gently.

“I could go with you. At least for part of the year. I know it’s hard for you to sail here often, so I could follow your ship,” Lance said. “The water stays warm here. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Except the last time you tried to follow me, you almost got captured by the British Royal Navy,” Shiro said. “No. It’s too dangerous for you to swim anywhere near other humans.”

“You sound like my mom.” Lance scrunched his face into a petulant frown. “Humans can’t be all that bad.”

“Yes,” Shiro said, a haunted, distant expression shadowing his face, “Yes, they can be.”

“ _You’re_ not bad.” Lance twisted in the water, turning to face Shiro. “That sour-faced runt you keep around is okay too, I guess.”

“Don’t talk about Keith like that. I would like for you to meet the rest of the crew sometime, though,” Shiro said. “But, Lance, you have to believe me - if most humans knew about you, they wouldn’t feel the same way that I do.”

“I think you’re seriously underestimating my natural charisma,” Lance said, with a cheeky grin, “But, okay. I get it. You wanna keep me all to yourself, that’s understandable.”

“Lance, that’s not what -”

“No, no, I get it! I’d wanna keep something as beautiful, charming, and sensual as me on lockdown, too. That’s okay, though. Know why?”

“Why?”

“I don’t want ‘most humans,’” Lance said, “I only want you.”

A stronger man might not have fallen for such a cheesy line; Shiro, though, at least when it came to Lance, was notoriously weak. The fluttering in his heart caught him just enough off guard that when Lance looped his hands around Shiro’s ankles, Shiro didn’t notice until he was already in the water. He let out a startled, abortive yelp as he was dragged under, and immediately clamored back towards the surface. Nearby Lance was in the middle of a giggling fit, a high flush of color on his cheeks as he laughed at the wet spectacle of Shiro treading water.

“Every time,” Lance said, between peals of laughter, “You fall for that every time!”

“I thought we were having a serious conversation,” Shiro grumbled, slicking his wet forelock back from his face.

“We were,” Lance said, “Got bored.”

Shiro wasn’t entirely sure if that was Lance expertly dodging the subject, or just his admittedly very short attention span at play.

“You’re terrible.”

“But you love me,” Lance said, swimming towards him, wrapping his tail around Shiro’s legs.

“Yes,” Shiro said, “I love you.”

 

* * *

 

Three days passed quickly.

They always did, but when sunrise came on the final day, neither of them said anything about what it meant.

“I won’t be gone so long this time,” Shiro said, as he gathered his things to leave. He placed the conch shell in his bag last, carefully, before slinging it over his shoulder. “Maybe a month. You’ll still be here then, right?”

“Yeah.” Lance fiddled with the box that contained his valentine, opening and closing the lid. “Until summer’s over.”

“Good.” Shiro hesitated; words of parting did not come easy between them. “That’s good.”

“Let me swim out with you. Look, I know, I know what you said, but just a little ways,” Lance said, cutting off Shiro’s protest. “Just until you reach the open sea. That far should be fine, right?”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Shiro knelt by the water’s edge, and reached out to cup Lance’s cheek. “Lance, you know, someday…”

“Someday, you won’t have to leave.” Lance covered Shiro’s hand with his own. “When that day comes, I won’t leave anymore, either.”

Shiro leaned forward to kiss him, and they said nothing else before Lance disappeared beneath the water’s surface.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro reached the docks, Keith was waiting for him, standing at the end of the gangplank with his hips cocked and an air of affected indifference in his posture. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and looked, so far as Shiro could tell, none the worse for wear.

“Good to have you back, Captain,” Keith said. “How was your shore leave?”

“Good to be back,” Shiro said, clapping Keith’s shoulder as they boarded the ship together. “It was good. It was...really good. How was yours?”

“Bought a new knife,” Keith said, with a vague shrug. “Even got to use it once already.”

Shiro laughed.

“Sounds like a fun time.”

It was hard work, making way to set sail; a cheery shanty sounded on deck in time to the weighing of the anchor and the unfurling of the sails. Another clear, blue day - the wind was on their side. The crew was still singing as they headed out for open water, Shiro with his hand on the wheel; they hadn’t gone far when he caught sight of a glimmer of iridescent blue, just off the starboard bow. Skimming through the water, jumping into the air with an acrobatic flip, the bright sound of Lance’s laughter carried all the way onto the deck.

Someday, a life at sea would grow old, and Shiro could see himself settling for the comfort of a white, sandy beach and a cool, hidden lagoon. Or maybe the sea would take him before then, and drag his bones down to the bottom of the ocean; in a way that, too, meant he would be with Lance. Whatever his fate might be, the sight of the merman dancing and jumping through the waves beside his ship, seemed a tangible sign of the way their destinies had already intertwined - it seemed like a promise that, in the end, they would always find their way back to each other.

That, Shiro wanted to believe.

As they reached open water the sails snapped to with a distinct and familiar ‘thud,’ the ship gaining speed as the wind buoyed it forwards. Shiro heard the distant call of his name; he looked down to see Lance offer a last wave to him before disappearing beneath the water. Not knowing if he saw, Shiro waved in return, and watched until he was sure he could no longer see any trace of blue. After that Shiro closed his eyes, breathed in deep the crisp, salty air, and in a low, quiet voice, began to sing.

“ _Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow the wind south o'er the bonny blue sea;_

_Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow bonnie breeze, my lover to me.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for a Shance secret Valentine's Exchange. <3 It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope that it was as fun to read! 
> 
> A couple of notes: 
> 
> \- The Golden Age of Piracy in the Caribbean ended before the 1800's. Sailor's valentines did not become popular until the early to mid 1800's, which means it's a little unlikely that Shiro, in this universe, would have actually known about them. I've taken liberties with historical accuracy in exchange for fluff; hopefully no one's going to call me out on my (admittedly very vague) knowledge of 18th century piracy. 
> 
> \- The song Shiro is singing is an English folk song called "Blow the Wind Southerly." It, too, is a bit of a historical anachronism, as the first published copy dates to about 1834, but the song itself predates its publication, so it seems likely that Shiro might have heard it somewhere. Again, liberties taken. You can hear a recording of the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dXQuaq_2icU


End file.
